


I Have My Bike

by pixiePique



Category: Wadjda
Genre: AU, Gen, Middle East, Short Story, character meet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 13:00:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12705513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiePique/pseuds/pixiePique
Summary: Foreword by Alex Brown.A short story I wrote for him about the movie Wadjda, and what would happen if she met Doctor Jafari. A tale of middle eastern tensions, a girl and her bike, and a refugee camp in Jordan.





	I Have My Bike

“I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike. I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride it where I like.” -Freddie Mercury

[The scene takes places in the Zaatari refugee camp in Northern Jordan in 2014, two years after its opening. Doctor Amin Jaafari has volunteered in response to the increasing civil conflict across Iraq and Syria. Haunting images of leveled homes and mourning parents caused him to volunteer as a surgeon with the World Health Organization. Additionaly, because of the growing conflict in Syria, Wadjda and her mother have no choice but to relocate to Zaatari for their own safety. Wadjda’s friends and classmates are all gone and she has no place to truly call home.]

Wadjda sat atop her sturdy, bright green bicycle and ran her fingertips lightly along its worn rubber grips. “Ready to lose again, Rifat?” She smirked at the rage clouding the boy’s eyes. “What is this, three times in a row?” 

“Girls aren’t even supposed to ride bikes!” The boy shouted, his knuckles white on his own handlebars. “Everyone knows that!”

“Maybe men just made that up,” she said breezily, brushing a lock of distracting hair out of her face, “because we kept beating you.”

A sizable crowd had gathered to watch the race, the third installment of a thorough beating of Rifat by Wadjda. At Wadjda’s remark, a small group of girls giggled, bright eyes shining over the scarves covering the lower half of their faces. She smiled at them and readied herself to push off. In her right ear, she heard the sound of shoes shuffling in dirt and knew Rifat was doing the same.

One of Rifat’s shorter friends began counting down, waving his arms around like one of those men who signal airplanes.

“Three!”

She felt the dirt shift underneath her Converse, the dry soil covering the black she worked so hard on in chalky dust. 

“Two!”

Her other foot planted itself on the pedal, the metal frame beginning to squeak under her tense muscles. 

“One!”

Suddenly, Wadjda felt as if the world had slowed down. The voices around her became soft and muddled together, her vision blocked out the bright sun and narrowed to only the path in front of her. The wind pulled a sigh out of her mouth, and her chin tucked down into her hunched shoulders as she stared down victory.

“Go!”

She pushed off and the world was the right speed again, her muscles bunching and flexing as she almost floated off the seat with the effort to push the pedals down as fast as she could. She blinked rapidly, dust flying into her eyes as she sped around the first corner. She didn’t dare to glance behind her where Rifat surely was lagging.

Second corner. Her breath was coming heavy now, her long skirt bunching up between her sore calves.

Third corner. The crowd was rushing into view, running with wild screams and grins to see who finished first. She allowed herself a grin as she sucked in ragged breaths, pushing herself through the last straightaway towards the finish line that someone would have drawn shakily in the sand by now.

“Almost there,” she breathed, heart in her throat. “Almost there, almost-“

Suddenly, five feet before the finish line, there was a sickening clang and she pitched forward, somehow on her bike one second and face-first on the ground, covered in dirt and bloody scrapes the next. Pushing herself up a little, her arms felt halfway numb, the way they often did when she lay upside down off the end of her bed, and her blood felt as if it ran a few degrees colder. Finally standing, her brain cleared and she turned with shock and dismay to see that Rifat had crossed the finish line, stirring cheers from the crowd. She swiveled her head and her vision went white with rage, seeing her beautiful bike with one of the tires laying abandoned off to the side.

Wiping the blood from her nose, she whipped around to Rifat accusingly. He pulled the corners of his mouth down in the semblance of concern, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Holding his hand out to shake hers, he tried to conceal his elation, his face a mask of modesty. “Good race,” he said, his smirk leaking through.

Slowly, she drew her shoulders back, plastering a sweet smile on her face. “Well, I guess my streak had to end sometime.” She reached her hand out towards his.

Just as he moved in to shake her hand, she stepped forward and reached around, shoving her hand into his pocket. Just as he yelled and stepped back in shock, her hands closed around something metal and she yanked it back, holding it up accusingly. 

Rifat’s face went white as the wrench she had wrested from him dangled in the air. The kids that had gathered around gasped, even some of Rifat’s less trusted cronies. “I knew it!” She shouted, manic with rage and glee in equal parts. “You’re a cheater!”

His smirk came into the open, turning even more cruel. “I’m doing you a favor, showing you that girls shouldn’t do boy things,” he said, in a tone that suggested he thought his actions were reasonable. “It is lucky your father left so he cannot see your shameful behavior.” 

Wadjda froze, her heart feeling very much like it had dropped into the bottom of her stomach. Without thinking, she reeled her arm back and tried to slap him, only to be held back. She whipped around, looking at the boy who was holding her arm, and shrugged him off violently. She turned back to Rifat but was held back again, this time by several small hands. Overcome by anger, she began yelling and struggling to get at the boy.

“You cheater!” She cried, wriggling. “Let me go, let me-”

“Alright.”

Suddenly an extra hand was on Wadjda’s shoulder, and she turned to shrug it off, only to be startled by the calm, thoughtful stare of the man who was so gently holding her back. 

“Run along,” he ordered, addressing the others, and even with no fury in his face the crowd of kids released their hold on Wadjda and ran off, Rifat among them. She couldn’t quite bring herself to be furious that Rifat had gotten away without her getting a single hit in, calming in spite of herself as she looked into the stranger’s intelligent eyes.

“What is your name?” he inquired, stopping down closer to her level.

“Wadjda,” she said softly.

“Hello, Wadjda.” He held his hand out for a shake and she complied through sheer muscle memory. “I am Doctor Jaafari.” He continued. “Would you like me to take a look at those scrapes?”

“My bike.” She stood her ground by her most beloved possession.  
He smiled. “Surely you are more important than the bike.”

She shook her head, planting her feet. “I’m not leaving it.”

He looked at her for a moment, then chuckled softly. “Alright,” he acquiesced. “Bike first.”

He knelt by the bike, picking up the lost tire and wordlessly holding his hand out to her, expecting something. She started and then placed the wrench she had been holding in his warm palm. “Nice colors,” he said warmly, gesturing to the bike. With a few twists, he stood up and brushed the dirt from his knees, walking the bike towards her. “Good as new,” he assured her. “No harm done.”

She smiled and took the handlebars. “Now you,” he ordered.

She nodded and followed him into the tent he came from, leaning her bike against the outside before entering.

“So,” he smiled, clapping his hands together. “Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll fetch my supplies.” She sat where he indicated and he left, noises of cupboards opening and closing coming from the other room before he returned with a big box of medical supplies.

He knelt down in front of her and stared at her scrapes and bruises. “May I?” He asked gently.

She nodded, pushing her sleeves up so he could tend her bleeding elbows.

“This is going to hurt a little,” he said truthfully, dabbing antiseptic on them. When she made no move to flinch, he smiled, surprised. “You are a tough girl.” She nodded, her smile showing most of her teeth. “Smart too, I bet.” She shrugged modestly, but her smile didn’t shrink. “Too smart to be getting in fights, I think.” He said seriously.

She looked down, ashamed and angry. As he wrapped bandages around her arms she spoke. “Yes, I think so too.” Suddenly her head jerked up, fear making her eyes wide. “Will you tell my mother?” She asked, her throat tight.

The doctor laughed. “No, Wadjda,” he smiled and she relaxed. “This can be our secret.” He taped off the last bandage and cleaned her nose, satisfied that the blood had stopped. “What did he do to make you so angry?”

She sniffed, the chemical smell making her wrinkle her nose. “He loosened that tire so I’d fall off during the race,” she said sourly. “He said that it’s good my father left us so he wouldn’t see my behavior,” she clenched her fists as renewed sadness ran through her heart. The doctor paused in his ministrations briefly, shocked. “He says girls shouldn’t ride bikes,” her voice grew louder as she grew upset again. “Everyone says girls shouldn’t ride bikes!”

“And so they shouldn’t,” Before she could even react, the doctor winked and patted her head. “Without helmets.” She giggled and reflexively wiped her nose, finding no blood.

“I have to race,” she confided. “I have to win races. I can’t be just as good as the boys, I have to be better.”

“I understand,” he said unexpectedly. “You have to prove something to them.” She nodded, still shocked she wasn’t receiving a scolding. “Doesn’t that take the fun out of riding your bike?”

She giggled and held up her wrapped wrists like a trophy. “Only when I lose,” she joked. He laughed, standing up.

“I declare you fixed,” he said, moving to sit in front of her. “Why do you want to ride a bike so much?”

She considered. “Why shouldn’t I?” She eventually said. “Nobody asks the boys that question.”

He nodded, surprised at the wisdom of her answer.

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t get to do all the same things as you,” she said boldly. “Girls want to go places.” She smiled as the man nodded in agreement. “And maybe we don’t want to walk there.”

He chuckled. “I am sure you will go many places.”

Suddenly her mood darkened. “I go nowhere.”

“What do you mean?”

“My friends are all gone.”

There was silence.

“I am sorry.” He said.

More silence.

He spoke up again. “My friends are gone, too.”

She looked up at him, shocked. “Where were you… before?”

“Oh, I live here and there,” he said lightly. “Even without a bike, I go many places.” He smiled, but it was quickly replaced by sadness. “But nowhere is home.”

She nodded, understanding.

“I think I could be your friend,” he offered.

She nodded again.

“You know, many women become doctors.” He spoke up.

She straightened up proudly. “I know,” she said. “I’ve seen.”

“Just something to consider,” he smiled. “In case riding your bike for a living doesn’t work out.”

She laughed, the silvery sound lighting up the small tent.

The last of her giggles leaving her, she spoke up. “Perhaps you can start my training early.”

He nodded. “Come back any time.”

She nodded in thanks. “I think my mother will be expecting me,” she said, standing up. He stood up and followed her to the door.

Turning around, she smiled. “Thank you, doctor.”

“You are welcome,” he smiled, and she knew he meant it in every sense of the phrase.

“Why don’t you let me walk you to your tent?” He asked carefully. She noticed the way he pointedly didn’t refer to it as “home”, and was grateful.

“No, thank you,” she said, and he accepted it, holding his hand out for a goodbye shake. Letting go of his hand after, she smiled confidently. “I have my bike, you see.”

He smiled back. “I see,” he said, laughing a little.

He watched her ride into the distance, until the flash of green disappeared around a corner and the overwhelming beige of the desert filled his vision again.


End file.
